


Metal Against The Ground

by Clara_Parlato



Series: Metal Against The Universe [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hamilton Lyrics, Hamilton References, Hopefully it won't be deleted again, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron)-centric, M/M, My Magnum Opus, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Songfic, hamiltron, i put my precious boy through more shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 07:48:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clara_Parlato/pseuds/Clara_Parlato
Summary: Lance gets stranded in a planet during one of his travels after the war against the Galra. Now he's part of yet another war, a rebel, the founder of a nation and the man who brought Hamilton to space.





	1. Alexander Hamilton

**Author's Note:**

> Let's hope AO3 accepts this song fic.

 “What are you mumbling over there?”

“Hamilton.”

Lance didn’t even bother to remember that the Balmeran had no idea what Hamilton was. No, at that moment he didn’t have enough strength to explain to a sentient space rock what Broadway was and the absolute genius of musicals, Hamilton in particular. He was too tired from fighting Death to do that.

It was supposed to be a simple journey. Just go to a planet, talk to the King of a relatively peaceful race. Get some nice plants for Mama and some trinkets for his nephew and niece.

Simple.

Easy.

Right?

It was supposed to be a simple travel. But _no_ , life couldn’t be easy for Lance even _for a bit._ He really glued a nasty piece of gum in God’s beard to have such bad luck.

It started weird enough, with the Fortress of Lions—cheesy, yes, but the Captain Al-Lan was a cheesy alien with a fascination for Voltron—refusing to go near the very system the planet—named Phanet, by the way—was localized, no matter how much its captain pushed and huffed in frustration. It was like the spaceship had suddenly acquired a mind of it’s on, to the point it turned off all the lights when the captain tried to go forwards again. The plan then changed, they’d try to go around it and send scientists there as soon as they were back in the safe, known universe.

He should’ve guessed something was wrong by the ship’s reaction. He should’ve known something was wrong by how it seemly wouldn’t move, forcing them to get on the escape pods in hopes of leaving.

There definitely was something wrong when his communicators suddenly stopped working.

There definitely was something wrong when he got out of the pod—he had been “lucky” to be alone in one pod—and found himself in a jungle forgotten by God.

There definitely was something wrong when he was attacked and kidnapped by Galra after a few hours walking in said jungle.

There definitely wasn’t anything right when he got shoved in a cell with a Balmerian.

 _Boy_ , don’t let him get started on the experimentations.

A few more lyrics went past his once soft lips.

“Seriously, talk-a-lot, what are you mumbling over there? Also, you should eat something.”

“I told you, rock buddy, it’s Hamilton.”

“My name’s Vak and I have no idea what Hamilton is.”

“Name’s Lance and Hamilton is a musical about Hamilton.”

“What?”

With a sigh, Lance willed his tired limbs to move him from the cold and hard floor to the cold and hard sheets the Galra dared to call beds. He grabbed the bowl from Vak’s hands, silently thanking him, before filling his stomach with food goo that wasn’t much different from what he had back in his days in the Castle.

Coran would _love_ to hear his food was considered prison food.

With a sigh, Lance stared at his cellmate. The idea of telling Vak about one of his passions was weird. Not because Lance didn’t want to—God knows how much he would love to ramble away his pain—, but because he wasn’t used to the level of attention the alien was giving him.

Vak reminded him of Hunk. Tall and large. Probably could carry the Red Paladin for some time without tiring out. Yellow eyes filled with kindness, although he did a better job at hiding it behind a wall of salty annoyance than the Yellow Paladin could ever do. He was dressed the same way Shay and the other Balmerans dressed, a bit more ragged here and there, but what to expect from a prisoner? Besides, it wasn’t as if Lance was in a better situation, his armor—provided by the Blade thanks to a certain mullet—had been removed with no hopes of knowing where it was and his under suit could very well be called a colander.

Lance noticed that, in truth, he was used to being tuned out by Hunk, his best friend, his best bro, the man he swore friendship for eternity. It stopped aching too much after a year with almost no contact.

Maybe that was the reason why, after swallowing spit—and hopefully the upsetting thought—, he started talking.

“A musical is, like, a play, but with songs.”

“A play?”

“Yeah, man, a play. You know what plays are, right?”

“Of course I do. I’m just wondering why anyone would put singing in it.”

“Why wouldn’t anyone put singing in it?”

“Point for you… man.”

A smile crept on Lance’s face. Oh, he liked his cellblock buddy more and more. A sentinel passed the cell door without giving them a glance. The Galra in that place must’ve been really confident to not worry about the prisoners. Well, better for him.

“Ok, you told me what a musical is, but what about Hamilton?”

“It’s a musical.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

Lance let out a small chuckle, relaxing more where he was laying.

“So, there’s this country in my planet called United States of America—”

“Wait, your planet has different civilizations?”

“Yeah, with different languages and cultures.”

Vak looked awestruck, like he couldn’t even fathom the mere idea of having more than one civilization in a planet. The boy could understand his surprise, considering how most planets he had visited only had one civilization. He wondered if humans just liked to be more complicated. He let his new buddy take some time to mull over the information by softly continuing the song.

“So, this country, America for short, started as a colony. Of England, the most powerful kingdom of that time.”

“Like the Galra?”

“Along those lines, yes. England started asking more than America was able or willing to give. And, well, if there’s a certainty about human nature is that when you push a human, they’ll push back eventually.”

“Let me guess, a rebellion?”

“A revolution, my friend. America didn’t want to just give less, America wanted to be free.”

“And that… musical, Hamilton, is about that?”

“Yes, but it focuses more in the life of one guy.”

“Was he the leader of the revolution?”

“Nah, he was one of the men that helped shape America. He worked directly with the leader. That’s why he’s a Founding Father.”

“There are others, then. So, how come he gets a musical?”

“He was almost forgotten by the country, never as famous as the others until the musical came out.”

Lance looks at Vak just in time to see the man wince. Yeah, being forgotten didn’t sound good no matter the reality. No wonder Lance was so afraid of it happening to him.

Already happened with his team.

 “So? What’s the guy’s name?”

 

_“Alexander Hamilton_

_My name is Alexander Hamilton_

_And there's a million things I haven't done_

_But just you wait, just you wait...”_

 

“… You were waiting for me to ask that just so you could sing that bit.”

The cheeky smile Lance managed to send him before the guards came to get Vak for his fight on the arena was enough answer.

* * *

 

Sometimes he wondered if he was singing for the sake of singing or for the sake of his sanity. He guessed both, considering how he’d repeated the first four songs of the musical for days.

“Can’t you sing a lullaby?”

“What’s the fun in that?”

How long had Lance been in that prison? He honestly didn’t knew. His biological clock would tell him it was dusk, but the minuscule hole the Galra had the courage to call a window showed him the sun announcing noon. His mind told him it had been a day, but the hole told him it had been a month.

That planet was weird, _really_ weird, as if it played by its own rules, completely disregarding the Universe and its Laws.

_“And Alex got better but his mother went quick”_

“Well, that’s depressing.”

“I’ve been singing this for you for some time, you’re only noticing now?”

“Oh, I have noticed it all the other billion times you sang it.”

_He started retreatin' and readin' every treatise on the shelf”_

“That Alexander was smart. If there’s no one to help you walk, make your own crutches.”

The human sighed—he was doing that a lot—and moved on his “bed” so he could look at the alien, avoiding let his back touch the floor at any costs. Vak had many scars scattered around his body, and some soon to be scars still fresh, looking ready to start bleeding again. He truly looked like someone forced to fight everyday so he could survive to fight in the next.

Suddenly, the human remembered the girl in the lab. The poor girl—Altean, by the markings—whose screams made a symphony with his own. The one he had named Esperanza seeing as she couldn’t remember her name. The one that shared his pain.

The big pair of white wings attached to his bloody back shivered, and he shivered together with the feathers. He was still trying to wrap his head on the fact he had now extra limbs. Esperanza made it look so easy.

“What are you thinking about?”

“We need to get out of here. We will get out of here. You, me, the others. Soon.”

“Are you crazy?”

“Yes. Absolutely insane.”

His feathers were shivering again, but this time in anticipation. Millions of plans running wild inside his head.

He wasn’t the smartest. The fastest. The strongest. No, he had none of those unique skills his old teammates had, just a handful of random skills he picked here and there.

“It’s time to start making crutches.”

But, he found out after he started travelling around in the Universe, he didn’t need to be anything else but a _survivor_.

* * *

 

Lance liked to sing. When he was happy. When he was sad. When he was angry. When he was afraid. When he was nervous.

He liked music and he liked singing and he liked his own voice.

The only thing that maybe he liked more was to be correct. Not right, no, but correct.

Liking music came with a quite nice perk: He was a good listener.

So, in between his screams of pain and his singing, he let himself drown in someone else’s voice.

Vak’s tales of his Balmera. Esperanza’s babbling about her cellblock partner—that sounded suspiciously like Slav, but less paranoid. The guards whispered talks. The scientists clear techno ramblings.

He learned about the Rebellion. He learned how complicated to world right outside that prison was. He learned that not everyone agreed with what was happening. He learned that some just didn’t care anymore. Most importantly, he learned his way in the place and whatever more he would need to finish his plan of escape, like the guards routine.

“You’re afraid.”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve been your… cellmate for some time now. I picked some of your weirdness.”

“Thanks, man, real comforting.”

Vak only shrugged.

“We’re going to do the impossible tomorrow. Of course I’m afraid.”

“I still ain’t sure how this plan is going to work, but I trust you.”

“Thanks, Vak.”

Silence took over for a few minutes, Vak watching the boy mull over the plan once more. It had taken movements—phoebes?—for him to prepare everything, but the day had finally come. Not for a second Vak doubted the plan, not when Lance had so carefully plotted every possible variation and considered every possible situation.

The Balmeran had never seen eyes burning with so much raw determination.

The Balmeran had never seen eyes burning with so much raw determination.

Didn’t take long for Lance to start singing again, trying to match the trembling of his fingers with the determination in his eyes.

 

_“In New York you can be a new man (Just you wait)_

_In New York, New York_

_Just you wait!”_

 

That last line sounded less than a verse and more like a promise.

A promise Vak full-heartedly believed in.

Vak knew Lance was singing.

* * *

 

Even if the boy was far away, deep in the labs of that hell, Vak knew Lance was singing under his breath.

Probably Hamilton.

Vak could hear the human’s voice resonating inside his mind, calming his racing thoughts. He didn’t have time to panic. He had to keep his part of the plan going. There were people depending on him; he could hear their labored breaths as they made their way to freedom. The freedom Lance wanted to give them. The freedom Lance would give them.

Outside of the Galra base was a cold night, stars tiredly yet dutifully showing them the way together with the round moon. They were almost free. Almost. Almost. They just had to keep going forwards.

He didn’t stop when he heard people approaching.

He didn’t stop when it was confirmed it was the rest of the prisoners.

He didn’t stop to look back at his friend.

He didn’t need to.

Lance certainly was there, in the very back, making sure no one was left behind.

Singing under his breath.

_“We fought with him”_

The weird alien—Fun was his name—was wrapped around the Balmeran’s shoulders, silently watching the scene. Vak could swear he heard the creature mumble about realities and percentages, but he couldn’t be sure.

“Our chances of actually getting away are rather high.”

“You have Lance to thank for that.”

“Oh, believe me, there isn’t a reality where I don’t.”

* * *

 

_“Me? I died for him”_

The wish to take flight was big, but Esperanza fought it with all her might. It would just jeopardize the carefully crafted plan Lance made. Soon, she promised herself, soon she would be free to fly as much as she wanted. Soon she would stretch her wings and touch the skies.

But for now, she would follow her friend, her leader, Lance.

Letting his whispered voice wash away her tiredness, she took another step towards freedom.

* * *

 

_“Me? I trusted him”_

General Uvoid of the Rebellion had heard about the explosion in the Galra base. She had heard about the pandemonium that was caused by an unknown force.

She knew that unknown force would be of great help in the war that was to come.

So she and some of her best men went to go rescue as many survivors there were as soon as notice of the escape attempt reached her ears thanks to the spies working there. She surely didn’t expect for so many people being freed, though, and marveled about the impossible happening right in front of her eyes.

Whoever was the cause of all this, was a key to victory.

She was almost certain it was that fragile-looking alien with burning blue eyes mouthing words without sound.

* * *

 

_“Me? I loved him”_

“Did you hear that, Khamael? I think something happened to the prison!”

“Chemie, unless it affect us directly, I don’t think that matters.”

“No, no, Lavina! Think like this: If they can get away, so can we!”

“Prince, that’s impossible.”

“It is impossible to run from the prison, yet that seems to be happening right now.”

“Whatever you say, Chems.”

“Lighten up, Lavi. We’ll get out of here, you’ll see!”

* * *

 

_“And me? I'm the damn fool that shot him”_

Trayir Riylor. It was a very well known name in between the rebels. A pureblooded Altean with some impressive fighting and diplomatic skills. A man of grace and intelligence.

A man of pride and greed.

That night sitting on his makeshift bed in hopes of recovering quickly from his injures, Trayir felt as if something was shifting. As if a piece of a big puzzle was finally moving to take its rightful place. As if the missing link was finally found and History was rearranging to make it fit.

Trayir knew something like that would happen.

He had been waiting for it.

* * *

 

_“There's a million things I haven’t done_

_But just you wait!”_

Lance surely didn’t expect to be rescued by the Rebellion, but he sure was glad. His plan went so far as to guarantee most of the prisoners would be able to flee, but where exactly they would be going was a mystery even for him. He was surprised when he saw Uvoid, the Galra General of the Rebellion herself, make her way towards him, more because of who she was than what she was. He stopped to sing just as she stood in front of him.

“You. Were you the one who came up with the plan to run away?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You did a great job.”

“Not really. Not even half of the prisoners are here, if only we had more time…”

“You could’ve ran away and let all those people behind. You didn’t. You saved them, be proud of yourself, _drut_.”

Lance wasn’t sure what “drut” meant, but if the soft look and proud smile in the woman’s face was anything to go by, it was a good thing. So he stood a little bit straighter and smiled a little bit brighter, thanking her.

When Uvoid asked for his name, he had bit back the next lyrics of Alexander Hamilton, feeling that it wasn’t the time to bring Broadway references, nor to explain to a Galra what Broadway was and who was Alexander Hamilton.

 

_What's your name, man?_

 

“Lance.”


	2. Aaron Burr, Sir

Lance sighed, he was doing it maybe a tad too much the last days, but who could blame him?

He was stranded in an odd planet where time seemed to pass too quickly, with no hopes of going back to his team. His pod was in Galra territory therefore going to it  wasn’t a very good idea at the moment. He found himself in the middle of a soon-to-be full on war. He had been tested on like a lab rat. He had wings attached to his body, fully functional wings he had no idea how to control.

Closing his eyes, sitting on the dusty floor near his tent with his wings spread behind him, he tried to distract himself thinking about his newfound friends. Vak, the sturdy Balmeran. Esperanza, the energetic Altean. Fun, the worrywart… Owl-centipede. Adding Lance, the fragile-looking human, and they sure were a group notable.

“I’m sorry, but are you Lance?”

Lance opened his eyes suddenly, looking at the Altean that approached him with a badly concealed curiosity and an even worse concealed look of superiority.

“That depends. Who’s asking?”

“I am Trayir Riylor. I’ve been looking for you, Lance.”

“I’m getting nervous.”

“Your impossible feat was quite the news, I had to know who was the man that freed so much people.”

“I’m flattered, really, but that wasn’t much. I had to leave a lot of people behind.”

“But you still saved a lot of people.”

Trayir sat down right in front of Lance, who took his sweet time to give the man a good look. He had tanned skin and black hair. Broad chest and shoulders, muscles all around, he reminded Lance of Shiro. His eyes were a deep green and the pupils of an intelligent gray. He was dressed like Lance, in a dress shirt and dark pants, clearly off duty. Altean markings shined green under his eyes.

The Altean was analyzing Lance; he could feel it. Waiting to see what made Lance so special, like children waiting for their mother to give them a toy.

“So? How were you able to do it with so little conditions?”

Lance decided then and there that Trayir Riylor was someone to keep some distance from. Not enough to be considered an enemy, but certainly not a friend.

“I’ve been in wars before.” With that type of people, the best was to be vague. Guess no one would be hearing of Voltron for some time, not before Lance was sure they were trustworthy and away from that Altean. Not a hard feat considering no one already didn’t knew about Voltron.

He truly was in a piece of the Universe forsaken by God.

He saw something flash on the man’s eyes and his suspicious were confirmed. In front of him was a guy that wouldn’t hesitate to do what was necessary to survive, no matter what. From waiting patiently to stepping on someone.

Lance saw himself in that man’s eyes, for they matched on determination.

“Ah, a soldier.” If he noticed Lance’s wings twitching with the word, he didn’t say anything. It felt wrong to be called a soldier. “Your planet is not in a great situation, then?”

“Afraid not.”

What else could he say? That he didn’t knew? That he had been away from his planet, too occupied travelling through the stars trying to forget his first love and his friends abandon? That he prayed every night and every morning for God to have mercy, to take pity in his mediocre existence, and leave Earth, Lance’s beautiful Earth, out of danger for he wasn’t there to protect it, running away like a fool?

Yeah, _no._

“But you must have some secrets up your sleeve? I refuse to believe that was all dumb luck. You must be very intelligent. No wonder the General is interested on you. Are you this used to planning escapes? Were you the strategist in your army? I am one of them in our army, seeing as not many here people have proper cognitive functions.”

“Can I offer you a drink?”

The Rebels had no need of money between them. They provided each other without complain and paid if they desired so. All the money they were able to gather was used in either the King’s Playground—the actual original Kingdom of the planet—or the Galra’s playground—where the prison-base he meet his friends was located.

“That would be nice”

Lance almost snorted, thanking the universe for the small mercies known as “coincidences”. He couldn’t wait to tell Mama about his adventures in Phanet as a Hamilton singer. She’d would love to hear about it. After a good scolding for worrying her to death.

They got up to walk in the direction of the makeshift bar area.

_“While we’re talking, let me offer you some free advice_

_Talk less”_

Trayir looked at him with disdain, letting clear he would make a point of not following whatever advice Lance was _so generously_ giving. Lance smiled, pleased with how things seemed to be working with his theater nerdness.

_"Smile more_

_Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for”_

Green eyes stared at him with disinterest.

“I’m here to defend what I believe in. It should be known what I fight for.”

“You wanna be ahead?”

The ex-Red Paladin looked at Trayir knowingly as he nodded, letting the other understand that he was not someone Trayir could play around like a doll. Lance usually would give people the benefit of doubt, but the last months—weeks?—had worn out his good will and it was taking its sweet, sweet time to go up again.

They sat down on the bar, each asking for a drink. Lance had drank before, back on Earth. His uncles sometimes liked to prank him and his siblings when he was younger, and they almost got killed by his mama when they made the kids drink beer. When he got older, he actually asked his mama if he could have some beer, to satisfy his curiosity.

It was bad. Beer tasted like it smelled.

But now, sitting in that if-you-squint bar with the weight of an universe and fluffy wings on his back, nothing tasted better than beer.

Granted, maybe it was because it wasn’t human beer, it was an alien equivalent, but still.

It tasted like forgetting bad memories.

_“Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead”_

“Then I guess it’s not me you should be telling that to.”

Lance chuckled, seeing his weird group of friends approach. Esperanza gave him a look, then stared at his company, then at him again and smirked.

He might had taught his friends some Hamilton songs by singing them so much. The man by his side didn’t look so pleased, but the paladin couldn’t care less.

Esperanza reminded Lance of Keith. Impulsive and ill-tempered but with a good heart and gentle soul. Her long and wavy brown hair up in a ponytail. Brown eyes with orange irises shinning with energy. Her skin had a healthy glow, very different from the sick paleness from before. Her beautiful black wings trailing behind her. Orange markings in her cheeks.

Lance tried not to think about her screams and pleads during their time in the labs, focusing on the nice conversation they would have when left alone.

_“Show time! Show time! Yo!”_

Esperanza didn’t waste time on ordering drinks for them, smirk still in place, as if saying “See? I can sing that too!”

If only Keith was this cute.

Fun clumsily started Lafayette’s part, being the newest addition to the squad. His odd accent helped a lot and Lance suddenly had the urge to hug the hell out of the alien.

_“Oui oui, mon ami, je m’appelle Lafayette!”_

Fun looked a lot like Slav, except for the tuff of grey-almost-white hair on top of his head. He was a lot cooler, though, not paranoid 27/7 and having some cool stories to tell. He also tried not to worry much about the other realities, saying that probabilities shouldn’t be trusted 100%.

_“Brrrah brraaah! I am Hercules Mulligan”_

Vak looked unbothered by what he was singing, grinning cheerfully as his voice boomed towards the sky.

_“Let’s raise a couple more…_

_To the revolution!”_

The Cuban had the faint suspicion they had been drinking before going there. Their inability to actually raise the cups to make a toast didn’t help dissolve the suspicion.

_“Well, if it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton college!”_

Lance had seriously forgotten Trayir was there, and, sincerely, Trayir also didn’t look very happy with the discovery. He got up, ready to leave the loud group behind, understanding that he wouldn’t get anything concrete from Lance. Esperanza stopped him from giving a step, throwing an arm over his shoulders, ignoring he obvious height difference.

“Who?” Trayir looked so confused Lance couldn’t hold back the giggle.

_“Give us a verse, drop some knowledge!”_

“This is ridiculous. Have a good afternoon.” He said, shrugging the arm off and walking away.

Fun was chuckling along with Lance, Esperanza and Vak cackling madly. The human understood then why Alexander sometimes seemed to like making fun of Aaron Burr.

 “So, how are you, man?”

“I’m fine, man. Just adjusting.”

Vak patted his shoulder kindly, a clear act of friendship, trying to give Lance some strength. Lance smiled, thankful. Esperanza chugged the rest of her drink before starting to sing again, determined to finish the song even without their Aaron Burr.

Lance couldn’t let her finish the song alone, now could he? So, slipping in the role of Alexander Hamilton once again, he stood up suddenly, almost knocking his stool back.

_“If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for?”_

* * *

 

They were oblivious to the stares of the other rebels, who watched the strange group with interest and veiled amusement.

That were the people who saved all those prisoners. Those were the people who did the impossible.

And that was the boy who led them to that victory.

The Rebellion couldn’t wait to see what that boy would do next.

 

_Ooh, who is this kid? What’s he gonna do?_


	3. My Shot

Since young, Lance knew that staying in silence for too long would end in only three ways: Thinking unceasingly, doing something stupid or sleeping. If he were to name a more dramatic ending, probably losing sanity. Regardless, staying in silence for too long wasn’t a good idea, and Lance was reminded of it yet again when he quietly sipped his beer, his friends’ conversation just a background buzz.

Thinking it was, apparently, what his brain chose to do, as it started throwing around questions he wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. Or wanted to answer. How long had it been? How long had he been away from the team? Were they worried? Were they looking for him? Were they wondering what had happened to him? Had they even noticed his absence? Did they even care that he wasn’t in his farm anymore?

He doubted it. It had been a whole year after the war against the Galra, and aside from the casual lunch where all the team got together, they rarely meet each other. Or, well, they rarely meet up with Lance. Many times they talked, when they answered Lance’s calls, about things they did together. Without Lance. And he always answered with a smile.

He knew why they did it, he knew they saw _her_ when they looked at him, he knew they remembered the past thanks to _her markings_ on his face.

Lance didn’t blame them, he had a hard time looking on the mirror.

He directed his thoughts to his family, wondering if they’re ok, and praying that his mama was ok.

He also sent her his apologies.

After all, he had been thinking of joining the Rebellion of the planet and helping with the revolution he was sure was coming. It would take time and effort, he wouldn’t be going home so soon. And while, yes, he could just hop inside the pod and call for the Blade of Marmora or the Atlas, he understood that it wasn’t what that people needed. No, they needed to fight for themselves. They needed to bring hope for themselves.

He looked around, seeing all types of aliens. How ironic, the place he finally found equality between species, without prejudice or hard feelings, was a ragtag Rebellion, and the only characteristic shared by all was the desire for freedom. Galra and Balmerans and Alteans and so many other races all together hoping for the next chance to take a deep breath.

He saw some of the planet’s original habitants, aliens that, just like Alteans, looked freakishly human. Even more than the Alteans, seeing as the only overall difference, at least appearance wise, between the two species was the black sclera. Aakzeans, they were called.

Lance chugged the last of the drink in his cup and—with another apology to his mom—settled it down.

_“I am not throwing away my shot!_

_I am not throwing away my shot!”_

His friends—friends, he loved that word—immediately perked up, watching him intently as his voice went from a whisper to a mumble, rhythm picking up the more the maybe-alcohol did its job of loosening up the courage’s shackles.

Lance did not miss the cheeky smile Vak returned him, the big guy’s arms crossed, waiting to see if he would go on with his theatrics. Fun had finally let go of the cup, the centipede surprisingly enjoyed the beer a lot, to give the boy some attention. Esperanza’s smile grew more and more, wings fluttering behind her.

Lance tried to ignore her wings, though, for it would make him aware of his own and he was not ready for that yet, no matter how much they weight down on his back, literally and figuratively.

His voice then stopped being a mere mumble and could finally be called a hesitant singing. He could feel a faint confidence swelling on his chest. Lance promised, then and there, Hamilton lyrics floating out of his mouth, that he would find out a way to return to his home, alive and well. No matter what it took. It was the very least he could do, seeing as he was already being pretty selfish by choosing to stay there and fight a war he could easily end with the Blade’s help.

His friends’ voices reached him.

God, what had he done to deserve such great friends? He didn’t knew, but was thankful anyways as his friends joined him.

Lance could proudly say he taught Hamilton to aliens.

What a legacy!

The Cuban’s voice raised, stronger, certain. He made a choice. He needed to start walking along with it. Taking part in that war apparently a newfound hobby. Besides, was it really a new war if half of his new enemy was yesterday’s enemy directly from yesterday’s war?

The situation of Phanet was quite dire. There were two big powers. A corrupted monarchy ruled by Camael, an old Aakzean, King, Queenless. And an oppressive dictatorship controlled by Vrolkiell, a Galra, fugitive from the Empire, General trying to be an Emperor.

They both lived in what could be called a state of “not-war”. Pretty much a Cold War, both waiting for a slip from the other party so they can go full on war.

Then there was a smaller—not so much after Lance’s feat, but still not as big as the other two—third part. The Rebellion. No rules other than “don’t be a dick unless deserved” and “help when asked”. Guided by Uvoid, a Galra woman, the leader by popular demand. The strongest and most tired of them all.

And Lance had quite literally dropped in the middle of it all.

Good thing he knew how to steal the stage.

He opened his arms wide, and it was with a smile full of bewilderment that he noticed his wings doing the same. White feathers fluttering with the wind of hope he brought with him.

Lance decided to finally let them do their thing, finally acknowledge their undeniable existence. They were part of him. They would be of help. Running from a part of himself would never end well, another piece of wisdom he learned some time ago, the hardest way there was.

His friends could see it, he could tell. He wanted them to see it. He showed it to them. Both of his decisions, he made sure to let them shine on his eyes. A plaque to be read by anyone willing to give it attention.

They needed a group name. Lance always named the groups he was part of. After all, you call families by the name, right?

Back at the Garrison it had been the _Garrison Trio._

At the Castle of Lions it had been the _Paladins of Voltron_.

For some time, it had been _Lions_ —a family of a boy and a Lion who found comfort on each other.

Now his new family needed a name. Hopefully he would have his head in place for enough time to think about it.

The bartender filled the cup if front of him with an amused stare. Lance watched the Galra quickly diverge their eyes before looking back at him. Furrowing his brows, the boy turned to look at the crowd of rebels. And what a crowd. He and his friends were slowly being surrounded by the other aliens, interested amusement shining in every pair of eyes, as if watching peculiar spectacle.

And maybe could be.

They would be.

Lance did know how to steal the spotlight.

It could be very well said Esperanza was vibrating as she joined him. The Altean sounded delighted, wings showing her emotions, actual open book.

Vak drank the contents of his mug in one go, ready to take his role as Mulligan.

Fun still seemed a bit unsure, but there was determination behind the anxiety his species seemed to carry.

The traveler—maybe he should start using “the Rebel”—grinned, glad they all agreed.

If the crowd expected a show, who were them to deny?

* * *

 

The loud noise of their mugs, wood (space wood) against wood, tasted like determination, Fun noticed. Everything Lance did was filled with that. And hope.

And hope.

Fun could feel it, could see it. Filling the lifeless eyes of fallen soldiers and almost-soldiers, making them stand a little straighter, a little taller, a little prouder. He had already known, being what he was, but Lance was what the Rebellion, what the planet needed. The wish to see the tomorrow. And the tomorrow after that.

They needed a chance to fight for that tomorrow.

And of chances Fun was very knowledgeable.

**_“Shot!”_ **

Although he had to admit that being on the spotlight wasn’t really his thing.

* * *

 

Vak at some point had promised himself to never fight again. He had hated fighting for years. The arena only taught him how to fight, and he hated it. He swore that, if he ever escaped, he wouldn’t fight anymore.

He didn’t break that promise.

No.

For he was not truly free.

Still stranded in a planet far away from home, having to survive with a ragtag bunch crumbling against two superpowers.

No, Vak still had to fight.

**_“Shot!”_ **

He didn’t seem to mind, though. Fighting with other reasons other than cruel people’s entertainment felt right.

* * *

 

Esperanza wanted many things in life. To be free. To find out about the past she apparently forgot many pieces. To bring the ones that hurt her the same measure of pain inflicted.

Esperanza was selfish back in the laboratories. She would do anything to survive one more day; it was she or the others. Guilty would forever be attached on her back.

Then she learnt that survival could be affordable in groups. It could be her _and_ the others. All it took was a pair of black feathery wings and a boy with a similar pair of feathery wings and burning bluest blue eyes.

**_“Shot!”_ **

She tasted freedom, not all of it, just a lick. And she wanted others to taste it too.

* * *

 

It was no surprise Lance had to step in and sing Burr’s part, no.

After all, there was only one person they could think that could play both roles brilliantly.

Didn’t mean they wouldn’t boo.

Lance rolled his eyes, although he did recognize that there was no way anyone present that evening wished anything else than being free from the two tyrants.

Lance had been in a war before going to Phanet. He had fought for the universe. He had fought for his planet. Yet he had never felt such strong desire to actually go fight. No, when Allura—so long ago—called him a Paladin of Voltron, there was only one thing in his mind. One thing.

I have to fight, his mind whispered to him. I _have_ to fight.

There, surrounded by various species of aliens and singing Hamilton with aliens he could see in his future, preparing to fight for a contradictory ideal, he could think of only one thing.

I want to fight, his mind yelled at him. I _want_ to fight.

Thinking about his team, his space family brought him pain. Both the pain of longing and the pain of rejection.

He could find millions of ways to explain why they hadn’t come to rescue him after months.

He could think millions of ways to explain why they hadn’t come to rescue him after months.

But that didn’t matter at the moment. No. He had a Revolution to be part of. He had a planet to free. He had to teach them how to dream and hope.

Getting up, Lance twirled. It was a bit clumsy, the wings still weighting on his back. He danced a bit, letting his years of theater rush back to him. Closing his eyes, he prayed to God to give him strength to go on.

What wasn’t his surprise to hear the crowd join the next chorus together with his friends?

Aliens. Singing Hamilton.

Truly, what a legacy!

* * *

 

“They’re singing, your Excellency.”

“So it seems.”

“Should we do something?”

“Let me hear them. Let the others hear them. Let them sing away this Rebellion’s fears.”

* * *

 

The choreography was clumsy and completely out of synchrony. Some people twirled around. Some people shuffled their feet. Some jumped. Some slid.

They had no rule, no order.

Just a big group of different aliens singing—also completely out of synchrony, must be said—and dancing.

Just a big group of different aliens having fun in the middle of desperation.

And, again, Esperanza made it look too easy to dance with big feathery wing on her back, twirling and jumping. If she jumped a bit too high, if her wings opened enough for her to hover above ground for a few moments, no one commented. How could them when she looked so free?

Silence washed the place when Esperanza actually took flight, a strong wind delivered by strong wings knocking the closest to her. Good thing for Fun that Vak was immobile as a rock and nearby.

Everyone watched as she kept herself on the sky for a few moments before finally going down, not a bit looking embarrassed even as the silence continued.

Lance took the chance.

_“I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory_

_When’s it gonna get me?_

_In my sleep? Seven feet ahead of me?_

_If I see it comin’, do I run or do I let it be?_

_Is it like a beat without a melody?”_

In fact, Lance had imagined Death many times. He had seen Death many times.

His dad blamed his cursed martyr nature. His mother pointed out his blessed selflessness.

The first time had been when his neighbor’s daughter ran to the street, almost being hit by a car. Lance was thirteen at the time. Terrified, he cried for a good week every time he remembered the possibility of dying that day.

The second time had been only a year after. He wasn’t going to let his friend get beaten up by some stupid bully and his gang of dim-wits. Sore, he cried for some days, most of them of relief knowing he saved Hunk.

The third, the fourth, the fifth and the sixth happened in the next year. Each of them was to help or save someone. Tired, he cried each time, hating to see his parents so worried, and hating himself for not having intentions of stopping.

The seventh saved Coran. He cried for maybe two days, because Coran was alive and Lance had an ugly scar on his back to show for it. Allura had cried with him, relieved to see her last family member was still alive. Lance cried for her too.

After that one, it became harder to count.

_“Ask anybody why we livin’ fast and we laugh, reach for a flask_

_We have to make this moment last, that’s plenty”_

And what would you expect from a war?

Lance already had met Death. He was already accustomed to it.

So he cried for less time after that explosion. Because each minute he spent not crying was a minute spent helping others while they cried. They needed it. They needed to be reminded that what could’ve happened didn’t happen.

Pidge, being the smart gremlin she was, would cry the hardest, as her mind rapidly showed her how many times she could’ve inhaled for the last time without hugging her family one less time. Hunk was next, the poor sweetheart that avoided danger with a passion, baking cakes with flour and tears, making it taste slightly different from his momma’s. Then Allura, who already had seen Death too, who cried silently about many deaths, who cried silently for those who couldn’t anymore. Then Coran, crying for the pain in his Princess heart, crying for the void in his own heart, crying for the deaths that could have been and the ones that were still a possibility. Then Shiro, who also had seen Death, who cried for himself, who cried for them, who cried for all. Then, finally, Keith, who cried when the thought of never finding his place in the universe was too heavy, who cried when the thought of leaving like he was left got too crushing.

They needed to cry.

And Lance needed to take care of them.

Later, he always promised himself, later he could cry for himself.

For them, too.

Lance’s new friends had seen their fair share of somber horror.

The whole Rebellion had seen its fair share of somber horror.

But they, that beautiful cluster of races, didn’t need to cry.

No.

They’d enough time to cry. They’d enough time to lament.

What they needed was to hope. To dream. And to fight.

And Lance shortened yet again his time to cry, because they needed him.

They needed him to hope with them. They needed him to dream with them. They needed him to fight by their side.

Later, he promised to himself while his voice travelled through the silence of the listeners, later he would cry for himself.

And for them too.

Lance was no stranger to Death. He had met with her. He had seen people meet with her.

And what would you expect from a war?

Lance had arranged those meetings himself, sometimes. Brought Death to her newest date mate, one of the enemy who met the end of Lance’s efforts.

He had cried about it too. He had cried for them too.

The team had cried too. It’s normal to do so when your burden is too great. To crumble and cry. Good thing Lance was there, face dry and dry smile, so they could do so in peace.

He was about to kill again.

And what do you expect from a war?

The truth of what exactly he was putting himself into came not as a slap to the face, but swiftly like a sung poem.

What he was entering wasn’t only a war.

He would be witnessing a new nation being created. A new tomorrow. A new dream.

And he made his mother another promise. He promised to stay and help that new symphony as much as he could.

Together with the promise came an apology. He was sorry he wouldn’t be able to go home for some time.

Go figure that the only way for Lance to be selfish is for him to be selfless.

 

_“I’m laughin’ in the face of casualties and sorrow_

_For the first time, I’m thinkin’ past tomorrow”_

 

Finally out of his reveries, Lance could finally focus on the people he would be fighting for. With.

Smiles, eyes and mouths, greeted him.

He looked at his group of friends.

They seemed to agree with whatever determination running through his veins.

He looked at the General watching on the sidelines, her Galra advisor dutifully by her side.

She had the proud smile of a tired leader.

He grabbed his mug again, it being filled with the space beer the Aakzean bartender correctly registered as his favorite, and gave a cheer in her direction.

Respectful playfulness, returned with a shake of the head and a raised cup.

* * *

 

“We might have to change our name from Rebellion to Revolution.”

“Your Excellency?”

“Would you mind being called revolutionary instead of rebel?”

“Not a bit, as long as I’m free.”

“This is going to change everything, Khiv. We’ll stop fighting to survive and will fight to gain.”

“We’re gaining freedom, isn’t that enough?”

“Fighting is easy, keeping peace is harder.”

“Good thing you only promised them freedom then. General Uvoid.”

* * *

 

_“Not throwin’ away my—”_

That was it. There was the point of no return.

The moment where Lance had to step away from his current life to step in a new life.

It was fine, though.

He wanted that.

He had already started.

He couldn’t just give up after that, now could he?

No, Lance could not.

Lance did not want to.

 

_“Not throwin’ away my shot!”_


	4. The Story of Tonight

It was no surprise to Lance when he looked around him and found most of the Revolutionary Party sleeping. In fact, he would be surprised if they weren’t.

It was late.

And they drank quite a lot.

Vak was clearly drunk; face resting on his arms, on top of the wooden balcony, one hand clutching a mug half-full. Esperanza was tipsy, smile still shining and eyes fighting to stay open. Fun was surprisingly half-sober. The alien was calmly staring at the moon, as if calculating if it would take more than three days for it to fall.

Ok, Lance wasn’t as sober as he would like to admit.

It was nice that they still sang along with him.

Lance smiled, thinking of how freakishly similar to Hamilton his life had become. He hoped he didn’t play the role of Alexander Hamilton to a t. That wouldn’t end well in any way.

He did feel a bit guilty for dragging his new friends to the Revolution, knowing the best for them would probably to leave the planet and never think about it ever again. But one look at their eyes and anyone could see their resolve. They would stay. They would fight. They would do anything so no one would go through what happened to them.

The group was lovingly named Freedom Tram. Lance had suggested it as a joke as the afternoon flowed through the sky, remembering his good Brazilian friend and the long talks about slang they used to have. Then he had to explain what slang was, why there were different slangs around Earth and what trams were. Interesting conversation that ended with all his friends agreeing on the name, much to his bafflement.

He had then offered other options, but they had already settled on it.

And, so, the stories of the Freedom Tram, a group of courageous aliens, were ready to go.

Lance couldn’t wait to see his friend’s reaction when he told her that, after returning to Earth.

_“They’ll tell the story of tonight”_

It would quite the tale indeed.

_“Let’s have another round tonight”_

The bartender looked at Vak with an unimpressed glare and the human couldn’t hold back his chuckle.

_“Let’s have another round tonight”_

Fun looked at the older man, eyes glinting and hands animatedly clutching his empty mug.

_“Let’s have another round tonight”_

Lance nodded to the bartender, promising it would be their last round for the night. The man sighed, filling their cups once more with that delicious space beer. Just one more, Lance promised again with a smile.

_“Raise a glass to freedom_

_Something they can never take away_

_No matter what they tell you_

_Raise a glass to the four of us”_

Tiredness washed over them in one big yet gentle wave, their raised cups not going eve halfway where they’d been few hours before.

_“Tomorrow there’ll be more of us”_

There wouldn’t, probably, seeing as most people were either too comfortable or too uncomfortable to join the Revolution and fight the tyrannical rulers.

But it was still a nice hope to have.

To cling to.

Briefly, Lance thought about his team. How would they react to it all? To him joining a second, much smaller, just as important, war? To him temporarily leaving everything behind? To him suddenly disappearing for months? Would they be concerned? Would they be angry? Would they notice?

_“No matter what they tell you”_

Would he be still himself?

Would he be able to keep being himself?

He hoped yes. He would still be himself once he got back to his farm. To his family.

Himself, but better.

Himself, but stronger.

Himself, Lance.

Vak’s head fell on the counter with a thud. Esperanza fell back on her butt, giggling. Fun sighed softly, looking once again at the big moon.

Lance smiled, knowing he would be the one to carry them.

He’d be the one to carry them.

Himself.

 

_“Tonight”_

 

Himself, Lance.


	5. The Schuyler Sisters

“What is the next song?”

“The Schuyler Sisters.”

“Wait, where is Trayir?”

“Probably flirting with some rich ass. He did say he wanted proximity to power.”

“And I’m the one who flirts too much.”

“You do flirt too much, talk-a-lot, you just don’t do it for money.”

“It’s like, how you say, the pot calling the kettle black?”

“Thanks, Fun.”

* * *

 

Trayir was a simple man. He liked to flirt, he liked to drink, he liked to be treated the way he deserved. With utmost respect, admiration and a smudge of fear. And what best place to find people like that than the busy city of Oseford, the very heart of Aihogary Empire, the land of Aakzeans?

Besides, there he could find people with actual cash, and getting them to support him, and therefore the Revolution, would be of big help for all parties involved.

And so the proud Altean left his comrades in the market. He would’ve warned them if he wasn’t so sure they would ruin his chance. Especially that human who thought _oh so highly_ of himself.

And he did actually find exactly what he was looking for.

Three figures walking around, three girls looking around.

_Angelica!_

An Olkari with fiery eyes and impeccable posture, walking as if royalty was an ornament she carried around casually, dressed in a long pink dress.

_Eliza!_

An Aakzean with gorgeous purple eyes and long black hair, the smile of a dreamer shinning on her face, dressed in a long red dress and a black cape.

_And Peggy!_

And a Galra with a gentle gaze and a cautious attention, expression writing thousands of worried letters, dressed in a long yellow dress.

Trayir smirked.

_Work, work!_

_The Schuyler sisters!_

Lucky him, finding what he’d been looking for.

* * *

 

 “C’mon, we’re almost there!”

 “Calm down, Chemie, you know I can’t run.”

 “I really don’t mind carrying you, Lavina.”

Together they walked towards their freedom. A plan orchestrated by the always intelligent Chemie and a mysterious rebel she’d refused to introduce to her siblings. They still trusted him, of course, because Chemie did and they trusted Chemie, though it would’ve been nice to already know their savior.

 “I still think this is too risky.” Lavina sighed, remembering the punishments General Vrolkiell so delightfully gave to all who tried to escape his personal harem.

 “Yes, well, staying there would also be risky. We know what he does to the pregnant ones.” At that, Lavina put her hands on her belly, fearing for the life of her unplanned but dearly wanted unborn child.

“We also know what happens to those who are caught running away.”

“And the ones who take too long to give in on his supposed charms.” Lavina looked at her brother sympathetically, knowing the romantic man would enter a consuming despair if his first time were taken from him.

_But—look around, look around, the_

_Revolution’s happening in New York_

“Besides, aren’t you excited? We are finally out of that place! Look at this city, it is beautiful!”

They had to agree with Chemie, the city of Oseford was truly a beauty, with it’s not too tall and not too small buildings and houses, all of them of a white matte, contrasting with the gray stone floor and golden ornaments. People of all races and genders walked around like busy bugs, some stopping to take a look at the occasional musician or dancer.

“It’s like a dream come true, isn’t it, Chem?”

“For sure!”

 “Are we sure we want to do this in what is clearly the start of a war?”

Lavina huffed, annoyed by being ignored once again thanks to her siblings’ excitement. She wanted to be free, she really did, never before she wanted anything as much as she wanted to be free from the clutches of that stupid Galra General, but they were three concubines running away from the Galra and the Aakzeans and joining the rebels while a war was about to start.

By the time they actually reached the city, the General no doubt already noticed the absence of some of his toys and it was only a matter of time before they had to hide for dear life, rebel or no rebel.

Her siblings didn’t seem to share her worry, walking around with wonder in their eyes. The young Galra took deep breaths, trying to calm herself enough for her brain to entertain the idea of accomplishing the goal and finally being free.

“Chem, where exactly is that boyfriend of yours?”

Chemie skillfully avoided a person who clearly had every intention to try to woo her before looking over the place with a thoughtful look, scanning for someone who matched the appearance of her friend.

“Well, we were supposed to meet at the market—”she started with a curved brow and amusement filling her eyes—“But I guess an impatient man will be an impatient man, no matter what.”

Coming on their direction and frankly quite far from their determined meeting spot was Trayir Riylor.

* * *

 

 “Why do I have the impression that you just spoke ill of me?”

 “Riylor, don’t flatter yourself. I spoke ill of impatient men, you just happen to be in that group.”

 “And those might be your sisters?”

“Siblings, yes. Lavina and Khamael.” Both of them smiled at him, happy to finally put a name and face to their savior.

They did not lose the flirty stares their sister and the Altean sent to each other. Good teasing material.

 “I am Trayir Riylor.” He said, doing an exaggerated bow.

“The most impatient and arrogant fool there is to meet. Stop trying so hard to be charming and take us away from this place.”

“I like fiery women.”

“I like competent men.”

 “As entertaining as your flirting is,” Lavina intervened, the quickly forgotten worry resurging just as quickly, “we are in a situation. I would like to live a bit more. Can we go?”

“I agree with Lavina.”

With a nod, Trayir put aside his flirty words and turned around, ready to guide them towards the Revolution base, towards their freedom. While they walked, being careful to avoid the Galra guards roaming freely, the Altean told them the newest news. How the Rebellion wasn’t going so well until a quite big amount of prisoners from the Galra base escaped. How a fragile looking alien named Lance seemed to be the mind behind the great escapade. How he and his odd friends liked to sing and dance and be loud. How they were able to—and the three could see the bitterness in his eyes, small but there—bring hope to the rag-tag army. How they weren’t rebels anymore, but revolutionaries, dreaming with their own country and freedom.

It ended with Trayir asking them what exactly would they say to General Uvoid, the leader of the Revolution. It wasn’t like he actually told her about the rescue mission, she did not need more stress on her back.

 “Don’t worry about it.” Chemie waved a hand in the air, as if shooing away

_I’m ‘a compel him to include women in the sequel!_

“I’ll do the talking.”

_Work!_

“If you say so.”

Khamael almost couldn’t believe he was away from the nightmare that the harem was. Out of the three, he was the one who spent less time there, only a few months, which was considerably less time than Chemie’s two years and Lavina’s six years, and yet he could say for sure he wished to never return.

The circumstances that reduced the Aakzean prince to a trophy and toy of a repulsive man were already painful enough, but what came after almost shattered what was left of the boy’s poor heart.

Heart that was beating with hope at that moment, trying to ignore the liquid hurt flowing along his blood. Some wounds hadn’t been cured yet. Maybe they never would.

Lavina held Khamael’s hand gently, taking him away from his haunting thoughts. She threw him a comforting smile, and it turned more real as her hand was squeezed a little.

She was the youngest of the trio by maybe a year, it was hard to know in with the Aakzean and the Galra’s slow aging, but she’d been in that hell for far longer than them. She protected Chemie when, in the first weeks, her wit and fire pissed off the General. She comforted Khamael when he cried at night, victim of nightmares only betrayal could orchestrate.

And she would fight for the child inside her, guarantee they would see the sun rising.

Chemie took a glance at her siblings, immediately aware of their thoughts. Not surprising, they had a bond no one could understand, no one could interfere, created by sympathy and strengthened by pure love.

Chemie, of the three, was the one with least reason to run from that place. Other than the intense desire to have her freedom back and complete disgust towards the Galra and their disrespect to basic living needs, she didn’t really have a more urgent reason to leave. No one was waiting for her outside and, as much as she hated to admit, at least she was being treated better than the prisoners, being fed regularly and, if she was lucky enough to get the General’s attention, some luxuries like sleeping on his soft bed and some pretty clothes.

It was not a life to be proud of, and many times she considered not living at all, but then Lavina came and Chemie knew she needed to live, not for herself but for the sweet galra girl. And then Khamael came and Chemie couldn’t help but extend that love to him too. She loved them more than her own life, she’d do anything for them, she’d give them anything. And so she decided to give them something they so desperately needed and something they undoubtedly should have. She decided to give them freedom.

 “I’ll miss this city, though.”

 “After the Revolution, Kha, I promise you we’ll come back here.”

“I’ll hold you to it, Chem!”

“Maybe we can go somewhere together?” Trayir wiggled his brows at Chemie, who shot him an unimpressed glare.

“Riylor, stop talking and walk.”

 “I really want to meet Lance, he sounds like a great person!”

Trayir snorted, but refrained from talking once the ever-sweet Lavina shot him a glare, clearly warning him against ruining Khamael’s daydreams. Lance would be a disappointment, flirting with them and annoying Chemie. Trayir had to agree, though, that the blue-eyed boy was not a bad person. Extremely annoying and quite obnoxious, but his heart was on the right place. And he also had to admit the boy was not dumb and very determined, selflessly freeing not only his friends, but a large groups of prisoners.

And he had been surprisingly at ease surrounded by so many different races of aliens, while most would take a day or two to get used to it and to put their differences aside to fight together. Acceptance. No prejudice ever shined on bluest blue eyes. No smile was forced. No word was cutting.

Yes, Trayir had to admit, Lance was an almost great person.

Could be better without the annoying part, though.

He wondered how were they after he left them. They had gone to the marked to buy some things and spread words of the Revolution to the people who believed in a different future, but Trayir feared Esperanza and Vak might do something unnecessary. They tended to rush forwards and while, yes, Traiyr could understand it, even he knew some actions would bring consequences too big for them.

He hoped Lance used that brain of his to rein them.

 “We’re almost out of the city.”

 “Finally!” Lavina whined, Khamael giggling besides her, swinging their joined hands.

Trayir smiled. It was heartwarming to seem them smiling and laughing. They would fit perfectly with the rag-tag group, burning hope and hard determination.

He couldn’t wait to see what type of shenanigans they would add to his life.

He also had a feeling the three would befriend a specific group of three men and one girl.

“There it is.” He pointed at the dull horizon, where the equally dull rebel camp was.

The three whispered only one word.

_In the greatest city in the world_

“Freedom.”


	6. Farmer Refuted

Lance was simple man. He saw someone cute? He flirted. He saw injustice? He fought against it. He wanted something with all his heart? He worked his ass off to get it.

Then why it felt like the Universe was out to get him?

“Hear ye, hear ye! I am Sabrael, and, by the free will given to me by the always merciful Iosmua, I bring with me opinions about the rebellion!”

Lance just wanted to finish the mission and buy some paper. Too much to ask, apparently. But of course his life had to freakishly follow Hamilton and of course there would be a Samuel Seabury doing a speech against the revolution right on the day the Freedom Tram finally went to Oseford.

Their mission was simple, gather information and maybe recruit more people to fight on the revolution. They even were given money to buy things! _Money!_ A rarity on the camp. And Lance, ex-Paladin Lance who’d been in a lot of missions for the sake of the universe, was so happy to do what they were told to do. Walk around, buy things, overhear conversations and keep an eye out for any possible allies. The mission felt like Heaven compared to what a certain princess had thrown on his back.

Then.

“Oh my God. Drag him.”

The sigh that left the human’s mouth was filled with tired suffering, an emotion he never thought it was possible to exist. But being part of a war right after a war does that to a person, he guessed. Also, taking care of two children and an almost responsible centipede owl would suck the energy out of anyone.

In fact, Lance was quite proud of himself for not collapsing.

He looked at his friends, watching as Esperanza and Vak tensed, ready to give the man a piece of their minds while Fun stared at him like he was speaking a completely different language.

(Apparently he was. Fun had explained that the Galra made some sort of psychic thing that translated languages seeing as they don’t have the patience to learn each language. It worked on all sentient beings and was intrusive as fuck, if you ask Lance.)

The Cuban boy hugged his bags closer to him, clothes, books, paper and ink inside them. For a planet conquered by the Galra, Phanet’s only Kingdom was primitive. There was almost no signs of technology most of the time.

Which Lance was glad for because his embarrassing letters could be burned and never saved.

But the lack of communicators was very annoying.

“Please don’t.”

To their credit, his friends did have the decency to look at him once he hissed Burr’s line.

They just chose to ignore him.

Ok, if that’s the game they wanted to play, then Lance would go along.

In fact, he’d make it his game.

Giving his things to Vak to be hold, Lance marched right to the center of the public, jumping on the platform to stand near Sabrael. He towered over the poor guy, who sent him a terrified glance. Throwing a look at his friends, two of them looking excited and Fun actually looking like he knew it was probably a bad idea, Lance smirked, putting on the most obnoxiously mask he could muster.

And Lance was an expert when it came to masks.

_“The have-nots are gonna win this_

_It's hard to listen to you with a straight face”_

 “Rebellion is not the answer! The Kingdom thrives thanks to our ruler! There is no need to foul the perfection reached!” Sabrael gripped the paper he had brought with him with more strength than needed, clearly not liking Lance’s presence.

_“Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us, honestly you shouldn't even talk”_

Lance had admired Samuel Seabury for keeping on talking even after Hamilton started to interrupt, mock and overall just drag him on the floor.

Lance sure admired Sabrael for doing the same as Lance wasted no time and let his own reasoning, mixed with Hamilton’s, drag the poor man like a dead tree tied to a truck.

“Don’t listen to them rebels! Our King is protecting us, and all he asks for is loyalty!”

“My dog speaks more eloquently!”, Damn, Lance had been wanted to use that one for a long time. He’d been hoping it would go to Keith, or Pidge, but he was satisfied with the face of utter offence on Sabrael’s face.

“They're playing a dangerous game”, the Aakzean gestured to the Cuban, distaste clear on his greenish eyes.

 _“But strangely, your mange is the same,”_ the boy had long understood that in war there is no right and wrong, but rather points of view.

“I pray our King has mercy on you sinners”, the alien all but spat the words, as if a threat of a king that hadn’t left his castle in ten years would scare the (ex) Red Paladin of Voltron.

“Has he left the castle yet?” The rest of the Freedom Tram whooped, and some people joined their laughing. Well, it seemed the hope of finding allies wasn’t unfounded.

 “Shame on you, ungrateful people!” Sabrael all but shrieked, “For shame!”

 _“For the Revolution!”_ There, now everyone would know that it wasn’t no rebellion. No, the King had now a Revolution on hands, and soon it would be out of them.

“Shame on you!”

 _“For the Revolution!”_ Needless to say, it was a complete delight to hear more than three voices excitedly agree with him.

You know that admiration? Yeah, no, it went down the drain very quickly, leaving an extreme annoyance behind. Lance just wanted to go back to the camp and write his embarrassing letters to his crush.

But alien Seabury had to open his mouth again.

“Oh my God, shut up already, haven’t you gotten enough?” It came out more of a growl than anything, and it only made Sabrael look at his paper as if it would somehow repel Lance. _“Honestly, look at me, please don’t read!”_

Weren’t Lance in such rush to return to the camp, he probably would’ve felt more pity for the poor guy who fumbled with both his words and the paper on his hands.

 _“Don’t modulate the key then not debate with me!”_ But Lance was in a rush and his tolerance was going down the drain right after the admiration. “Why should a King that haven’t left his castle for ten years be in command?”

Lance felt someone pull on his pants and looked down, finding Vak with Fun on his shoulders, both looking at him with different gazes. Vak looked amazed, while Fun appeared a bit scared.

Using the under suit of the Paladin armor for too long made Lance itch, no matter how comfortable it was, and he had seized the opportunity to buy and change in some clothes. The black pants and black shirt wasn’t something he’d usually wear, but he looked good. He also bought a really nice pair of boots made of a material similar to black leather and some fabric to make a coat. If he was going to be Hamilton, then he was going to have a coat.

 _“Alexander, please!”_ Well, to Fun’s credit, he didn’t tell them Lance’s real name. On the other side, Lance really would be Alexander Hamilton. Freaky. And awesome.

“Burr, remember who exactly sent me here!” Lance fired, happy to remember that the song had finally gotten to an end.

And it sure did when a bunch of the King’s guards appeared, announcing that their King had spoken.

Lance hopped down the platform, grabbed his friends and they left. It would not be a good idea to get caught by the guards, nope, Lance had his fill of prisons weeks (months?) ago. He didn’t want to find out if Aakzean jail was better than the Galra jail.

Besides, if his life really had become a freaky rip-off of Hamilton, the King’s words would be only threats.

 

_A message from the King!_


	7. You'll Be Back

Vrolkiell was a selfish, greedy man. He was, he had no problems admitting it. So, of course, when he saw the chance to take Zarkon’s throne, he took it. Sadly, he hadn’t expected Haggar and her wicked Alchemy.

A hiccup, nothing more, he thought as he and his army of loyal soldiers fled the Empire to avoid execution. The Universe was big, he would just start a new empire, the New Galra Empire, better, bigger and stronger than Zarkon’s. And he had done a great progress in that forsaken planet of Phanet, he had his own Empire and a King to back him up and the rest of the planets in that Solar System to enslave.

He had just a tiny little problem: His mate Uvoid, who left him to start a Rebellion after telling him she was tired of his sick ways.

Which, you know, _rude._

Also, not good, considering Uvoid was the top strategist of his army and had even been congratulated by Zarkon on multiple ocasins back when they were still his dogs.

She had ran away with Khiv, a servant Vrolkiell had been suspicious of putting stupid ideas on his mate’s mind, like freedom and respect for everyone.

Freedom was for the strong. Respect was for the powerful.

Nothing wrong about that.

But she didn’t seem to agree, making sure that he’d never be able to leave the System when she left with that damn shield. No ship could leave the Solar System of Gwarain. No scientist had ever found out how she did it and how she maintained it, but he suspected it had been a prototype stolen from Haggar to hopefully get the Lions of Voltron.

“Ah, my dearest Uvoid, when will you come to your senses and come back to me?”

“My Emperor!”

Vrolkiell turned around, turning his back from the destroyed view of his prison. Whoever escaped was just, if not more, as smart as his dear Uvoid, being able to break out _and_ take so many people with him.

“Rebels have been seen in the Kingdom!” The guard informed breathlessly, “They now call themselves ‘revolutionaries’ and one guard has confirmed that they looked like some of the prisoners that escaped!”

“So Uvoid has gotten more bold about her intentions… My poor mate, she really needs to wake up. To think she’d do all of this afte everything we went through together…” He sighed. “Tell my General to prepare for battle, it’s time to give Uvoid a visit.”

* * *

 

_And when push comes to shove_

_I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love!_

King Camael was a greedy, selfish man. He’d never admit it, but he was. So, of course, when he saw the chance to have the Galra’s power, he took it. It came with the price of his people’s well-being, but sacrifices were needed sometimes.

Just like when his wife tried to oppose him and was never found again after giving birth to the prince, supposedly taking the child with her. A little lie, a little poison, a little child given to the Galra. Sacrifices much needed if he wanted to reach his goals of being the King of the universe. Just like how Vrolkiell would eventually be when he conquered everything there was to conquer and died of mysterious circumstances, leaving his Empire to his good friend King Camael.

The Rebellion didn’t scare him much. It was made by Vrolkiell’s ex-mate, why would he worry about a love fiend that didn’t involve him?

No, he wasn’t too worried.

If anything happened, he could just say Vrolkiell forced him to be a bad King and offer to help the Rebellion. Then he’d take whatever was left of the “New Galra Empire” _and_ the Rebellion, convince Uvoid to break the shield and conquer the Universe himself.

Bless Vrolkiell’s runaway mate for giving him yet another option.

All because she believed all people were equal, and none was more equal than the other. Frankly, a stupid ideal. If people were equal, they wouldn’t be different.

Freedom was for the strong. Respect was for the powerful.

Nothing would change that, he knew, he was a King.

But she didn’t seem to agree, making sure that Vrolkiell and his allies would never be able to leave the System with that shield. No ship could leave the Solar System of Gwarain. No scientist, Galra or Aakzean, had ever found out how she did it and how she maintained it, but he suspected it had been a prototype stolen from the Galra Empire.

“And another beautiful day.”

“My King!”

King Camael turned around, turning his back from the gorgeous view of his Kingdom. Ah, he could feel fondness swelling up his chest when he looked at the buildings and streets and how much it all meant. Everything was a show of the King’s power, and what a show it was.

“The rebels now call themselves ‘revolutionaries’ and they’ve been seen inside this Kingdom!”

“Get my things ready, I’ll give Vrolkiell a call… And tell the guards to not apprehend them, we want to be on the Revolution’s good side in case anything happens to our dear Emperor.”

_My sweet, submissive subject_

_My loyal, royal subject_

_Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever…_

* * *

 

_I will fight the fight and win the war_

“Emperor Vrolkiell, it is a pleasure.”

“King Camael, the pleasure is all mine. I believe you’ve heard what happened.”

“Oh, yes. Is it worrying?”

“It would be if I didn’t knew Uvoid so well. I’ll hopefully end it all today.”

“Do you need my support?”

“No, my men are more than enough.”

“If you say so… Then I hope you win the war before it even begins.”

“I will, and I’ll get my mate back.”

“Next time we talk, will be on the day we break the shield keeping us in this system, King Camael.”

“I can’t wait, Emperor Vrolkiell.”

_I will kill your friends and family to remind you of my love_


	8. Right Hand Man

Lance had learned long ago that being right not always is a good thing.

But being wrong also isn’t, so it wasn’t like the Universe had changed much.

That bitch.

The King had let it very clear: Join him or let the Galra take over. He made it sound as if he was the most merciful out of the two devils looming over. Which Lance didn’t believe for one tick, because if the King didn’t react like the “New Galra Emperor” and wanted to destroy everything, then he certainly was plotting something.

It was smart, really. Look like the more merciful, peaceful leader to make the other look like a brute killer. If something happened, the people would prefer the peaceful than the wrathful, no hesitation. Having the public on his side and the Rebellion would surely give him more power over the Galra. In the end, both were using each other, but if Lance had to bet on one of them actually getting the power they hungrily hunted, he would bet on the King. You catch ants with sugar, not salt.

_When they surround our troops!_

That said, it was really no surprise when the troops of the “New Galra Emperor” could be seen in the horizon. Vrolkiell was wasting no time, it seemed. The Revolution, under the orders of Uvoid, they leader, separated in two: the army and the civilians. The last group—made by the ones that could not in no way fight—was taken to a safer place, while the army grabbed their weapons and what courage they could find to face the enemy. Their guns were similar to the ones Zarkon’s Galra used—and the ones Vrolkiell used in his prison—, but an older version, yet they were treated as the newest technology. Big and sturdy, of an ugly very dark grey metal, difficult to handle without extensive training or the strength of a Galra, it lacked the gracefulness of Altean artillery.

Lance missed his bayard. It had felt good to have something adapt to him, instead of having to adapt to whatever object he was using. But beggars can’t be choosers and he’d take the old Galra tech over nothing any day.

Other than the guns, any and all other weapons they had gotten their hands on were allowed in the battlefield. General Uvoid was no fool, a rag-tag army had to count with anything they could find. They weren’t simple soldiers mindlessly fighting for their superiors views, they were survivors trying to keep on living, trying to bring a new life to the world after them. Lance ended up with a few throwing knives and a dagger. His expertise with blades wasn’t as big as it was with firepower, but he had learned a thing or two in the last war he was part of.

_I will fight for this land_

_But there’s only one man_

_Who can give us a command so we can—_

Speaking of the General, the Cuban had seen many leaders, but none had ever showed such elegance and dignity. She was a woman who knew what she wanted, what she needed and what she had. Never before had he seen such magnificent person. He had no doubts, he wouldn’t mind following her to the ends of Hell. She clearly carried the heaviest burden out of all Revolution, tiredness crystal clear in her eyes, yet her demeanor did not waver. Resolute, she kept her head up and her shoulders squared. A leader ready to fight alongside her peers, either to lead them to victory or to fall with them.

_Here comes the General!_

* * *

 

Uvoid was tired.

She had been for a long time.

The fighting was tiring, the knowledge of the truth was tiring, and carrying the lives of so many on her back was tiring. She sometimes wished she was still ignorant like her old mate, believing that power was the only thing that mattered, that their lives should orbit around it like a moon orbits a planet. As if power was the only thing able to ground them. Life was easier that way.

But she found herself quite enjoying the difficult life of a rebel. Less about the responsibilities and more about the _people._ While before her life was easier, she had never felt like she was at home. She never knew what actually having a purpose was, and the feeling was exhilarating. Freedom and a purpose, she would never be able to give them up after the first taste.

So, yes, she was tired. Very, very, _very_ tired. She was more tired than she was Galra.

But she was satisfied.

Doesn’t mean the fight was any easier. Her ex-mate made sure to come even more aggressively than before, clearly resentful of her and angry with whoever dared to take away his precious prisoners.

The fighting would never not be tiring.

“Your Excellency?”

“Yes, Khiv?”

“If we die today, it was a pleasure to fight by you side.”

Uvoid briefly looked at her advisor, and then fixated her stare on her soldiers. Fear, apprehension, resolve, eagerness. Their eyes had whole litanies of conflicting feelings, but their bodies showed readiness to fight. Then her eyes caught blue. A soldier didn’t have the eyes that boy—Altean? Aakzean? A mix of the two?—had. A true warrior, made by peace and forged by war. Unwavering, his eyes stared right back at hers, shoulders squared and head kept up. That boy had certainly been there before, fighting to protect, to save. His posture filled her with an undiscernible feeling, a mix of pride, determination and satisfaction. She returned his encouraging smile.

“Keep these words for when you're dying.”

* * *

 

_Boom!_

Being used to fighting will never mean that fighting gets easier. You get more skilled, yes, but that only means that whatever you’re going to fight next _has_ to be much stronger to defeat you, which means you _have_ to be _even more skilled_ if you want to win. It is an endless cycle.

General Uvoid was well aware of that, as soldiers fell around her, both allies and enemies. The fight was proving to be one of the longest and hardest of the now Revolution. Vrolkiell really was pissed off, his army relentlessly pursuing them.

“Incoming!”

Suddenly, a loud noise was heard. She turned around just in time to see the opposing General be blown to smithereens by… a cannon laser? That was Galra tech only her ex-mate had. How…?

“Nice one, lil’ guy!” She heard a Balmeran holler together with the blue eyed boy, the cannon they definitely had just stolen from the enemy resting on the bigger man’s shoulders.

Uvoid heard herself chuckle. No battle is truly lost if there’s still someone fighting.

_Yo, let’s steal their cannons—_

* * *

 

_I’m in dire need of assistance…_

 “I need help. No offense, Khiv, but you’re not cut for war.”

“None taken, Your Excellency. In fact, I agree. There is only so much I can do.”

Uvoid trusted Khiv with her life, with her heart and with her soul. However, she couldn’t rely on him when war came to play. He was smart and logical, yes, but didn’t have the knowledge or experience needed. And at that moment, she needed someone with at least a fraction of her understanding to help her. The enemy drove them to a land far away from the civilizations of the planet. A vast desert no one dared to cross, red sand ready to swallow whatever blood was spilled.

“Your Excellency!”

Uvoid took away her eyes from the vision of her soldiers, the image of so many brave people catching their breaths and whatever resolution was left, a man in particular in the spotlight as he joked around and tried to keep the spirits up, to look at the soldier addressing her. She had seen him around, a pure blooded Altean who liked to make that fact known. His green eyes were intelligent, she would not deny, but they also shined with dangerous arrogance. He could do great things, for sure, but she feared what path he’d choose when it came to it.

“You are?”

“Trayir Riylor, sir. I wish to talk to you.”

“About?”

“In summary, I think that I could be of some assistance.”

“Oh?” The General had to give it to him. It took a special type of confidence to be so direct without hesitations when speaking to a leader. But, still, she didn’t have a good feeling about that man. He felt too reckless, too eager, too proud. He wanted to prove something so badly that bad consequences were practically inexistent to him.

“Not to brag, but I have studied enough about war strategy to say with—”

“Your excellency, Khiv said you wanted to see me?”

Khiv, that sly asopar. Of course he’d go directly to the one man Uvoid had told him was different from the others. That small Altean-looking alien clearly had experience in wars, it was obvious to anyone who knew how to look. Posture, expression, actions, his body and soul screamed “war ready”.

“Lance, I’m glad you came. Have you meet Riylor?”

She immediately noticed the tension on Trayir’s shoulders and the cautious hostility towards the other. Lance, though, kept his relaxed yet alert posture, pointedly ignoring the badly hidden glare of his fellow soldier.

“Ah, yes, we keep meeting, Your Excellency.”

“I look forward to seeing how things will play out.”

“Riylor.”

“Yes?”

“Do you mind?” With a vague gesture, the Galra dismissed the Altean, clearly wanting to have words with Lance in private. She had to admit it was funny seeing him trying to not throw a dirty glare her direction before leaving.

“Is something the matter, General Uvoid?”

“You have been in wars before, yes?”

“One,” He answered promptly, “Against Zarkon.”

“Zarkon…!”

With a gentle smile and gentler eyes, the man told her a summarized version of what he’d been through. Earth, his home planet, the Blue Lion, the Castle of Lions, Princess Allura of Altea, Voltron, the Defenders of the Universe, the war against Zarkon, Zarkon’s defeat, Prince Lotor of the Galra Empire, Haggar and the end of the war. Uvoid quickly sat down on a conveniently nearby rock, trying to keep her breathing even and her thoughts organized. So Zarkon was defeated. The Galra Empire was now under new leaders. Voltron’s courageous Princess had saved the multiple universes. The man standing in front of her was once a Paladin of Voltron.

“And you just… ended here?”

“The Universe is not very fond of me, let’s say.”

She smiled.

“It might be fond of me, to send you here.” She watched, amused, as a blush crept up his face and he mumbled out nonsense about not being a big deal. “So you’re not Altean?”

He winced, hand shooting up to touch his cheek, more precisely, the marks under his eyes. It was almost as if he was finally remembering they existed, as if he’d gotten so used to ignoring their existence that getting reminded of it hurt physically. It was clearly a bad memory, and Uvoid was about to backtrack, but Lance answered anyway, letting his hand fall back to his side.

“It’s… complicated. I’m human, but a part of Allura’s Alchemy is within me… _somehow._ No one is sure why or how.”

“Paladin Lance.” Lance stopped her by raising his hands.

“I’m not a part of Voltron anymore, here I am just Lance.”

“Very well, Lance.” The human offered her a smile. “I need help, and now that I know more about you, it’s clear that I need _your_ help,” She cut him before he could say anything, “I first thought of it when you managed to escape Vrolkiell’s domain with so many people and so little resources, then I entertained the thought a bit more after you and that Balmeran stole that cannon. You being a former Paladin of Voltron just made that decision much more obvious.” She approached him, and was hit with the unwavering honesty in his eyes. To think the deep respect her mate craved was hers, and she hadn’t gained it through power. “Lance, I’m asking you to help this Revolution because I believe there is no one else who could.”

“Dying is easy. Living is harder”

“What?”

“Sorry, I was thinking out loud.” Lance closed his eyes and sighed.

The General took that moment to take in what was _Lance._ He was tall—for Aakzeans standards, at least—, slim but clearly fit, large shoulders and chest, small waist. Tanned skin, brown hair, bluest blue eyes. His dark pants and boots had spots of red both from the desert sand and the blood of the enemy. The loose white shirt also was dirt at the chest, but it had been mostly protected but the dark blue coat the man liked to use. It was a long coat with long sleeves made with a thick material, as it had been clearly cut at some points but they were all shallow, it had silver buttons, lapels and cuffs. His marks contrasted beautifully with his skin and made his eyes more evident. His jawline was sharp and his face angular, nose slightly turned up, thin lips. The white wings were tucked nicely against his back, vibrating with the breeze. He was young, she could tell, and his features would probably change as the time went on, but one thing was certain: he was very beautiful.

Uvoid felt like a mother proudly watching her handsome son.

 

_I am not throwing away my shot!_

 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? I’ve decided a long time ago. This is my war now.”

* * *

 

“Esperanza has the advantage of flight, send her to where the others are. We need to establish contact with the rest of the Revolution; alone an army cannot do much, we need the support. Clothing, first aid, food… Keeping the other side blind is bad for all involved.”

“They also will be even more defenseless if we don’t communicate.”

“Exactly. Send some people on foot too, but tell them to go through another way. Seeing as we don’t have a map of the planet, we need to find or make paths for when we need them.”

“Khiv.”

“On it, Your Excellency.”

“Wait, if you see Fun, bring him to us. He’s good with seeing possibilities; it’d make planning much easier and precise.”

“Right.”

“And I recommend you send Vak with the group of messengers, he’s strong and has fighting experience. Also, while this may not be a Balmera, it still has large portions of ground, and he’s better than anyone I know when it comes to it.”

“Right, anything else?”

“Spies, we can’t just wait for the other two asses to make their move so we can do ours. Someone who can easily go in and out the Kingdom and someone who can do the same, but with the New Empire. For the first one, I recommend Trayir Riylor.”

“Are you sure?”

“Your Excellency, that man gets on my nerves, but he’s clever and committed to the cause. That’s all, Khiv.”

With a bow, the Galra left the General and her right hand man alone.

“I’ll write the letters for the rest gladly, but I might need your help. No one knows this Revolution better than you, General.”

Lance smirked, offering Uvoid the pen, who smirked back.

_And his right hand man!_

“Let’s start with the forgers, it’s time we updated our weapons.”


	9. A Winter's Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welp, time for drama to start

“It’s been an exact deca-phoebe since the prison break from Vrolkiell’s base. Who’d think things would change so quickly, eh?” Vak commented, watching people run around to prepare the party they’d been looking forward for some time. Finally they had a few days of peace, and they were going to enjoy them as much as they could.

“You have no idea how fast things change, man.”

“You’re doing that again.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing where you get that far away look in your eyes and your smile turns blank.” Esperanza pointed out for Vak, watching her friend close his blue eyes for a few seconds before smiling sheepishly.

“Sorry. It’s just… The first war I was in… I entered so suddenly, and then life kept changing at every turn and now I feel like I’m in a similar situation.” Lance sighed tiredly, shoulders sagging.

“It’s ok, just like those suspiciously Altean-looking markings under your eyes, we will wait until you tell us.” Fun assured, patting the man on his arm.

They smiled at each other. Their worlds were heavy, but they had each other to help carry them. The Freedom Tram would not crumble.

* * *

 

“Look at the girls!” Esperanza squealed, jumping a bit, almost hitting the others with her wings.

“Oh, I see them~!” Lance grinned, not needing to look back to know his other two friends had rolled their eyes and facepalmed.

“I’m too sober for this.” Vak grumbled and Fun agreed, both men going to the bar in the hopes of a relaxing drinking contest.

Lance looked around. For a ragtag group that had to make do with whatever they could put their hands on, the party was actually beautiful. They had enough luck to find the perfect place for a base, near a big, round pond and hidden by the dense forest. To think a place like that would be practically glued to a desert, but, hey, no one’s complaining. They had no electricity—or whatever equivalent they’d normally use, like Balmeran crystals—so for the lighting, many old lamps were restored—Lance never once imagined that all that time spent watching restoration videos would come to use—and candleholders were filled with handmade candles. It was as beautiful as it was dangerous, but they had been careful when placing them around the place and it was beautiful. Like a fairytale, the forest looked magical, and the reflection on the pond made it all more ethereal. Chairs were made and, though simple, they had designs all over them. All furniture had, actually, and pretty much every single one had a different design, as they were made by different people from different cultures. The cookers, with their wood burning stoves and recently bought knives, cooked up a storm. The bartenders never looked so alive. People danced and singed and they had no idea what they were dancing and singing, but they were happy. Some sat at the tables, chatting with whoever spent more than a second nearby.

General Uvoid had a table just for her, which, naturally, meant it was surrounded by people excited to talk with their leader. Khiv looked a bit put out, but Uvoid had delight painted on her face as she held a small child in her arms and laughed with said child’s mothers. She still wore the Galra armor, though.

“Lance! Lance! Look!” The Altean girl besides him grabbed the sleeve of his coat and shook him. Looking at where she was pointing, the man saw a table with three people dressed colorfully. One was an Olkari, dressed in a long pink dress, the other an Aakzean—or so he guessed by the human features—with long black hair dressed in a knee-length red dress, and the third a pregnant Galra dressed in a long yellow dress. “Isn’t she beautiful?” He could see her wings trembling.

“Which one?”

“The one in yellow!”

She was pretty, yes, with her soft features and her ears were super cute. But, if you asked Lance, he’d have to say he was way more interested in the person in red whose back was to him. What could he say, he had a thing for long haired beauties, and that black hair was asking to be played with. So he smiled at his friend and grabbed her arm, walking towards the table the three beauties were.

“Wait, were are we going?!”

“ _You_ , missy, will be asking for that lady’s name and then a dance while I talk to her friends.”

“I can’t just go and talk to her; she’ll think I’m crazy!”

“You are.”

“Even more reason for me to—hi!” Esperanza awkwardly dragged the vowel, wings stiff behind her. Lance nudged her with an elbow.

“I’m Lance, this is Esperanza.” He smiled pleasantly, jovially remembering his times flirting with people in the Garrison.

God, he sounded so old! He was only 20!

“We’re not interested.” The Olkari answered sharply, but softened when the Galra shot her a look. “Fine, I’m Chemie, this is Lavina and that is Khamael.”

Lavina smiled at them kindly, and if her smile was a bit larger when directed at Esperanza, Lance would make sure to tease his friend later. Then Khamael turned around and his world stopped. Long black hair. Pale skin. Purple eyes. Full lips.

Khamael was the splitting image of Keith.


	10. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready to feel helpless~

“Oh, no! Oh, no! She’s so cute!”

Khamael giggled a little as his sister gushed about someone behind him. It was rare for Chemie to show interest in someone, it was improbable for Lavina to do so. But there she was, fighting a blush and trying to appear casual.

“Yes, and she’s coming this way with her friend.” Chemie frowned. Khamael could understand why, Chemie wasn’t one to trust quickly.

“Chemie.” He warned lowly, not wanting Lavina to be sad in a festive day.

“Ok, ok.”

“Even more reason for me to—hiiiiii!” Someone awkwardly dragged the vowel, emitting a soft squeak as if someone elbowed them.

“I’m Lance, this is Esperanza.” A man introduced them, voice smooth and relaxed. Could it really be _the_ Lance? The one who freed so many people in such a short amount of time? The man who practically made the Rebellion into a Revolution?

 _That_ Lance? Khamael couldn’t find it in himself to turn around just yet, going over once again on his fantasy of such sublime man.

“We’re not interested.” Chemie answered sharply, but softened when Lavina shot her a look. “Fine, I’m Chemie, this is Lavina and that is Khamael.”

Lavina smiled at their new company kindly, her smile getting a bit larger when directed at one of them, supposedly the girl who got her attention. Khamael finally worked enough courage to turn around and his breath hitched. Shorty brown hair. Tanned skin. Blue eyes. Sharp features.

Lance was the spitting image of Luvon.

* * *

 

Lavina had the tendency to shy away from emotional situations. Be it a sad moment or a happy moment, she wasn’t very fond of dealing with emotions, differently from Khamael, who embraced his emotions like old friends, or Chemie, who was smart enough to understand and keep them in check. Lavina just had very little skill when it came to what her heart said. So it was really no surprise when she desperately looked at her siblings when the pretty girl—Esperanza was her name, beautiful like her—asked for a dance.

Her eyes were of a gorgeous brown, the pupils orange. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders in stunning waves. She was dressed in the usual soldier clothes—an uniform that started with the man by her side—, dark pants, heavy boots, shirt and a long dark blue coat. Esperanza smiled shyly, fidgeting as her Altean marks glowed softly together with the sweet blush on her cheeks. Her wings trembled cutely in anticipation.

“Lavina would adore to dance with you, _right?_ ” Chemie came to the rescue when she noticed her two siblings were too occupied staring.

“Y… Yeah!” Her cheeks burned as she got up and grabbed the extended hand. “I mean, yes, I’d love too!”

“Really?” Esperanza asked, looking a bit dazed, but recovered with another of Lance’s elbow attacks. “I mean, great! Let’s… Let’s go, then!”

And they were off, hearts beating loudly and smiles shining more and more each step.

* * *

 

“So, where are you from, exactly?”

“I have no idea.”

Esperanza had dreaded the questions. Fact was: she really had no idea. She only knew she was Altean because that’s what the scientists back in the Galra Lab called her and the others like her. Even Lance, though he insisted he wasn’t Altean, but a human being from a distant planet called Earth. She knew nothing but the labs and the unbearable white of its walls, and the scientists and the unbearable white of their coats. And the feeling of Freedom Lance brought with him. And the feeling of companionship that came with the Freedom Tram. And the burning determination of never letting anyone go through what she did, no matter the price.

Luckily for her, the brilliant girl in her arms was accepting to a fault, readily changing the subject the moment the soldier looked uncomfortable.

Their pace was slow, even slower than a normal slow dancer, but neither of them minded it. In fact, Lavina seemed relieved to be going in a slow pace and, hey, if that made their time together longer, Esperanza had nothing against.

“I don’t remember anything before my life in the labs.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok, my friends are determined to give me some good memories even in our current circumstances.”

Should she say it? She took a look at where she had left Lance, only to find him getting up to go after Khamael, who was leaving in a hurry. She panicked for a second, but Lance, always perceptive, shot her a look telling her to be confident, and walked away. So she took a calming breath and smiled sheepishly at her dance partner.

“And this night will be one of my best memories for sure.”

And it was.

* * *

 

“Lemme guess, your bride?” Vak questioned, watching as his friend scared the messenger alien—a nice Ghikel by the name of Kajf that maybe looked a bit intimidating with their eighteen tentacles and seven eyes—half to death with her eagerness.

“She’s not my bride!”

“Yet~!” He sang, finding her blushing face amusing.

Vak really loved these moments of peace between the battles. Moments where they couldn’t really relax, always ready in case of a surprise attack, but they didn’t need to be stiffly tense, clutching their weapons and their hopes to their chests. He just wished his best buddy could enjoy them as much.

Lance was usually always alert. No one had ever seen him without his weapons. Rarely they caught him sleeping in the out and he always took much longer to get drunk. It was like he was wired to be always ready to fight. And he was, if his tales of the intergalactic war were true, which Vak believed firmly they were. Shame the man had asked his friends to keep a secret from everyone, he’d have all the recognition he deserved.

_“It didn’t had anything to do with this Solar System; there is no need to bring that past here.” Lance had smiled sourly, clearly wanting that particular conversation to end._

But ever since Esperanza gained a mate, Lance had been different. He’s been spacing out a lot, which was _very_ out of character, and his face twisted back and forth between bitter anger and profound sadness. He hid it well from the others, but the Balmeran and Fun knew there was something going on with him.

They could only hope he’d open up to them when he was ready.

Until then, they found consolation in teasing Esperanza.

* * *

 

“Be careful, dear. Soldiers tend to be reckless.” Chemie alerted as Lavina sighed dreamily, letter pressed against her heart.

“I know, but… Ah, Chemie, she is sooo…”

“Dreamy? I know, you’ve told me a thousand times.”

Chemie was happy for her sister, she really was. In times like those, they had to grasp firmly whatever tenue string of happiness they could find, keep it close to their heart and fight for it tooth and nail. But she was also well aware of what could happen. Lavina had fallen for someone who was constantly fighting for her life. It was a noble cause, but it was still a war.

Khamael sat silently besides his sisters, and Chemie couldn’t help the worry from entering her heart. Ever since that encounter with Lance, Khamael was acting much less lively, as if something was slowly eating away his energy. She was a bit frustrated to admit she had no idea why her brother was acting such a way, as he refused to tell even her some of his secrets. Chemie could just hope he’d come to her eventually.

Until then, she’d worry about Lavina and her crush.


	11. Burn

“I’m… going to find Trayir.”

“He’s by the bar, trying to adulate General Uvoid enough to get a promotion.”

And with that, Chemie left Khamael with Lance. Khamael sat there, refusing to look directly at the man who brought so many memories. Good memories, bad memories, bittersweet memories. Memories he had been keeping  hidden in the deepest part of his mind. He saw Lance next to him with the corner of his eyes, as if he too was trying to avoid accidentally looking at Khamael.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” Lance broke the silence, voice soft, “I’ll leave after a few minutes, when Esperanza stops panicking.”

He looked like Luvon, but he didn’t sound like him. His voice was different, melodious and smooth instead of sickly sweet. It didn’t have the extraordinary confidence Khamael had once fell for, but it was in no way insecure; bathed in a calm knowledge of what he was capable of. His words where carefully thought, yet they were sincere, not once hiding the man’s feelings or intentions. Lance also carried himself differently. Luvon would proudly announce his victories and feats, trying to fill the room with his presence, however Lance had yet to say anything about himself, satisfied in just being part of the background. He had noticed Khamael’s discomfort and did something about it; Luvon would have kept on talking without a spare glance at his discomfort.

Ha.

It’s impressive how an enamored heart brush away such red flags. Khamael wondered why he had loved Luvon at all every time he thought back at their relationship.

Luvon was determined and confident, he had a way with words and strong presence. He treated the Aakzean very kindly, bringing back small trinkets and holding his hands as they talked. Khamael had been happy to know someone loved him so much after father locked him away inside that dreadful castle until he was at age to be given as a gift to the Galra “Emperor”. So much, he was blind to his toxicity until the very end.

Until Luvon betrayed him.

“Can you be betrayed by someone who was never loyal to you?” He blurted out, finding the silence more torturous than the memories.

“Yes.” Lance answered in a heartbeat, voice just as soft as Khamael’s.

The Aakzean man turned to look at the other, finally locking eyes with him. Blue. Blue, blue, blue, the bluest blue. Deep and beautiful and filled with sorrowful understanding. Ah, a fellow heartbroken person.

“Why?”

“Because betrayal is not about the loyalty of the betrayer, but the broken trust of the betrayed.”

“And what about honor?”

Luvon loved talking about honor, his honor. Lance only smiled, a small and pained smile. His eyes kept shining with deep feelings and Khamael just couldn’t look away. So many feelings, so much wisdom, so much honesty. Sitting by his side was a man who would never lie to him unless extremely necessary, and that occasion would make the guilt eat him away for phoebes after.

“Honor is relative, it’s a set of rules to follow. Everyone has different rules that fit them better. That’s why sometimes we don’t understand it.”

“… You look so young, yet you sound so wise.”

“Old soul, I guess. Two wars can do that to a person.”

Not being able to handle watching Lance smile sweetly like Luvon once did, Khamael got up and scurried away, eyes blurred. It hurt so much to be reminded of his first love, and then to be reminded it was not him. The man ran and ran, not really looking where he was going, until he couldn’t anymore. He collapsed in some unknown place, far away from the animated party. Tear rolled down his face, as if trying to wash away his pain, knees throbbing from the harsh impact. Footsteps behind him alerted Khamael of his company, but he dared not to look at whoever had followed him. The person stood right behind him.

“Heartbreak is never easy, eh?”

It was Lance. Khamael heard the man sit, and felt his back touch his own.

“You remind me of someone I loved. You could be a clone of him, truly. His name is Keith,” Lance’s voice was incredibly soft as he talked about the one named Keith, “We were rivals at the start, mostly my fault. I was super jealous of him back then and would rile him up and challenge him obnoxiously.”

“…Why?”

“I was jealous and hurt. He naturally had skills I struggled to get through hard work, and people made sure to constantly remind me of that. On top of that, he seemed to never really care about what he had, which was what I wanted, and that made me angry. I was such a bully!” He laughed fondly. “Eventually we became friends, I let go of my petty feelings and finally saw the great guy under that grumpy mask.”

“… I’m not grumpy.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Hey!” Khamael jerked his shoulder so it would hit the other, who answered by chuckling lightly. The Aakzean noticed how he had calmed down and tears no longer ran down his cheeks. “What happened with Keith?”

“Nothing. I was too much of a coward to say anything; we drifted apart as he ran after his ambitions… And I stayed behind, like always.”

“… I had a lover.”

Lance hummed, giving him the chance to either go on or shut up.

“He looks like you.”

“Well, what are the odds?” Khamael giggled bitterly.

“His name is Luvon. He was good to me when no one else was. I couldn’t help but love his smile and words. I thought he’d take me away from that bad place, I thought we’d be happy together. Maybe built a small yet comfortable house somewhere that’s green and live there until Death did us apart… But it was his greed that separated us.”

“How so?”

“It was more profitable to help my father sell me to the Galra general than to escape with me.”

“I’m sorry, Khamael.”

“I’ve burned everything he ever gave me when I found out, even my favorite fabric doll. I couldn’t bear to look at it even when I desperately needed to hug someone.”

Silence embraced them for some time. What would Lance do? Get up and leave? Share more stories of himself? Tell Khamael to get over it? Comfort him?

“Can I hug you?”

Could he? Could Khamael let that man who looked so much like the one he once loved take him in his long arms and bring him closer to the heart that beat for another?

“Yes.”


End file.
